


Wine Bar Blues

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4614930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Rimmer/Kochanski, things I said to try to cheer you up. In which there is not as much shipping as intended, but some hand-holding and schmoop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine Bar Blues

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on Tumblr](http://notalwaysweak.tumblr.com/post/126896446508/ficlet-prompt-rimmerkochanski-either).
> 
> Red Dwarf characters do not belong to me and I am making no money off this work of fan fiction.
> 
> * * *

Rimmer had previously only encountered Kochanski in passing. Either she would pop by the sleeping quarters to pick Lister up for a night out at one of the ship’s cinemas–whichever was playing the sappiest romantic comedy, of course–or he’d knock at the door of her quarters and make small talk while Lister reluctantly got dressed to come and do his job.

(More precisely, to not do his job, but rather to sit around sighing lovesickly and counting the minutes until he could leave Rimmer and go back to Kochanski.)

Since she and Lister had broken up (three days, four hours, and roughly twenty-six minutes ago, if his mental calculations from Lister’s last drunken whimper about the time prior to passing out were correct), he hadn’t even seen her that much.

So when he opened the door and she was standing there with a small box in her arms, Rimmer wasn’t really sure what to say.

“Is Dave in?” she asked.

Rimmer managed not to say anything snide about the fact that Lister’s booze-sodden snoring was clearly audible a good half-mile away and simply nodded towards the upper bunk, where Lister was a bequilted lump.

“I can wake him if you want,” he offered.

“No… better if you don’t.” She pushed the box at him. “I just wanted to return… well, I wouldn’t look too closely if I were you.”

It was almost all clothes; Rimmer could tell from the soft weight and the blue jumper hanging out of the top. But there was a little jewellery box as well. Not ring-sized, but a little bigger.

“It’s a necklace,” Kochanski said in response to his unasked question. She pushed her hair aside; there was a fading green line across her neck. “A cheap one, but it was sweet of him.”

She looked shaky-lipped and suspiciously bright-eyed.

“Oh. I… sorry. I expect you’re happier now, though?”

“Mnh,” Kochanski said, which was not exactly a real response.

Lister snuffled and stirred in his bunk, and Rimmer could think of only one thing to do that might avert disaster.

“We could go for a drink and talk, if you like,” he said.

(Going for a drink was only a horrible idea if Lister was the one instigating the drinking. Rimmer didn’t mind nearly as much if it was his own idea. He _had_  intended to spend the evening in a stasis booth, but he could give that up just this once.)

“All right.” Kochanski’s gaze flitted past him to Lister briefly, and Rimmer hurried to get his wallet and get them both out of the sleeping quarters before Lister could wake up.

* * *

By mutual unspoken accord they went to a wine bar. They might have met Lister’s friends at Parrot’s, and they might have met Kochanski’s boyfriend at the officers’ club, and at any rate Rimmer was disinclined to go anywhere near the officers’ club since the… the G.S. incident.

The wine bar was small and quiet. They both sipped white wine. Kochanski had ordered a trio of dips with lightly toasted Turkish bread, so that she wasn’t drinking on an empty stomach, but seemed more intent on crumbling the bread between her fingers than actually eating it.

“Are you–” Rimmer started, at the same time as Kochanski said, “I suppose–” and both of them laughed, albeit awkwardly.

“Go on,” Kochanski said.

“I was only going to ask, are you all right? Not that I’m an expert on women’s feelings, but you don’t look very happy.”

Kochanski mutilated another piece of bread before replying. “I don’t know. I thought I would be, but I keep wondering if I’ve done the right thing.” She gave him a somewhat watery smile. “I suppose Dave’s moved on already.”

Rimmer snorted. “Moved on? He’s barely  _moved_. He–” That was when his limited social skills kicked in and he realised that what he was saying was the opposite of comforting.

“Oh,” Kochanski said very quietly, moving on to poking vaguely at the tzatziki with her bread.

“All you can do is what’s right for you,” Rimmer said, feeling like a self-help tape. “Think about where your feelings really lie, and work from there.” He put a hand over hers, in a gesture intended both to be comforting and to reduce the amount of mess she was making with her food.

He wasn’t expecting her to turn her hand over under his and close her fingers around his. She wasn’t really looking at him when she did it; she was gazing down into the hummus, as if the mashed chickpeas held the meaning of the universe.

“What if I’m not sure where ‘my feelings really lie’?” She gave the last few words a decidedly sarcastic twist.

“I don’t know. I haven’t exactly been in your position before.”

Kochanski looked at him then, a lower wattage version of the smile that Lister had so often rhapsodised about gracing her lips. “You haven’t, have you?”

Rimmer winced. Did the entire  _ship_  know about the McGruder incident? He went to pull his hand away, but she held on, pinning his fingers with her thumb in a way he hoped wasn’t about to become an incredibly painful jiu-jitsu grip.

“Relax. I’m teasing.” The corners of her smile wavered a little. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Rimmer picked up a piece of bread with his free hand, dipped it in the tzatziki, and guided it to her lips. “Here. You’re probably just lightheaded from drinking without eating.”

Kochanski raised an eyebrow at him, but bit the point off the bread, chewed, and swallowed. “Is this really going to convince you that I’m all right?”

“Not until you take your fingernails out of the back of my hand,” Rimmer said, dipping another corner of the bread, into the beetroot dip this time, and offering it to her.

She loosened her grip, but let him feed her another bite. Her tongue darted out to lick the bright pink dip from her lips and Rimmer inadvertently squeezed her hand.

“Maybe I just need some time apart from  _both_  of them to get my head together,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance. “Maybe you and I could do this more often… you can keep me updated on just how well Dave’s coping, and I can tell you just how dull it actually is being an officer.”

“Why not?” Rimmer said, and this time when Kochanski smiled, it was at full force.


End file.
